


“We’re the ones who killed him, now"

by whinyfrancisabernathy



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whinyfrancisabernathy/pseuds/whinyfrancisabernathy
Summary: After Henry's death, Richard and Francis have a bit of a crisis.
Relationships: Edmund "Bunny" Corcoran/Richard Papen, Francis Abernathy/Henry Winter, Francis Abernathy/Richard Papen, Richard Papen/Henry Winter
Kudos: 17





	“We’re the ones who killed him, now"

“We’re the ones who killed him, now.” Francis stood, his back to me, by the window of his apartment. Dressed to kill, of course, in a dark, mud colored suit, with a striking black tie.   
“I don’t know what you mean,” I insisted. I did, but I wanted him to explain.  
Francis turned quickly. He had been crying; I had the brief, absurd thought that I almost expected his freckles to smudge from his tears. “You know exactly what I mean,” he accused. He meant it.   
“I really don’t.” I sat on his dark green sofa. It was ugly, clearly expensive and too flashy. A try-hard. I loved it. “I swear, Francis, I can’t play games with you right now.” I glanced up at him coldly. He stood above me. I wondered if I should be scared. Honestly, I was a little drunk. It was noon. I wondered if he could tell.  
“Well then you’re stupid.” Francis spoke with contempt that thinly veiled something I could not quite place.   
I thought of Achilles, flying into a blind rage after learning of Patroclus’s death. I wondered if that was how deeply I should feel Henry’s death. Had I not accepted it? I thought I had. I only felt numb.  
“Francis.” I stood, standing barely shorter than him, looking at his red mass of hair, and then his tear stained eyes. “Francis.” He soft sobbed, and I leaned forward to hold him.   
“Richard,” he hiccuped, “R-r-richar-rd.” I felt his whole body shiver, and I let him cry into my shoulder. After a while, he calmed down, sighing. He pulled back, looking at me with wide, red eyes.   
“Henry’s d-dead,” he choked out, crying. “He’s gone. We're the ones who killed Bunny, he’s haunting us now, we-” I cut him off with a kiss. I knew he’d like that, and I really couldn’t listen to him anymore.  
Francis and I, really, were much alike. I had the same thought myself: with Henry dead, Francis, the twins, and I are the more guilty of killing Bunny than anyone else. Before, we could blame Henry, but now, there was no denying it: we were murderers. Damn him, damn him for shooting himself. I had taken weeks to recover from my own wounds, only to come here, (as I had nowhere else to go) and be cried upon. I felt an urge to cry, but…  
Suddenly I became incredibly aware of kissing Francis. Kissing him deeply. I stood on my toes to try to kiss him from above, he crouched a bit and let me. He smelled like apples and wine. Probably due to some awful cologne. He kissed me back fiercely, with a passion that was almost funny coming from a man who had just been sobbing on my shoulder. We broke apart. His eyes seemed… wetter, had he been crying while we kissed?  
“Are you alright?”  
"No."

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading! plz comment!


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